Closer to Hell
by Jemmiah
Summary: Jemmy makes possibly the biggest mistake of her life...and this time the cost is incalculable. Can the Jedi help her find little Han?
1. Closer to Hell

**Closer To Hell**

**By Jemmiah**

"I want you to stay here. I want you to stay and do what mamma tells you…"

Like so many occasions where things ultimately turned out terrible, the day started as might any other. There were no bad omens to be seen, no signs from above that anything might be amiss. Jemmy, happy to get away from her estate whilst the final touches were being performed on the extensive gardens surrounding her house, had dressed both herself and her son in preparation for a day out. Not that she had been especially thrilled with the choice of destination, but seeing the way that Han's eyes had lit up on being told she knew that it was worth it.

A trip to see her late husband's friend and former business associate Welks' freighter 'Corona Star' had seemed a fairly safe, if uninspiring, way to pass an afternoon. Welks had proven to be just as loyal a friend to Jemmy as he had to Jonas, especially in the way he liked to look out for her son. The boy, barely two years old but with an adventurous mind filled with dreams of speeders and fast swoops, liked nothing better than to look at holo pictures of star ships and gaze wistfully up at their moving images on his bedroom walls. When she'd explained to him that they were going to see the real thing, owned by a close family friend, the child had barely been able to contain his excitement. Even whilst pulling on his shoes, her fingers trying to fasten the clasps at the front, Han had pretended to be a spaceship; his little arms held proudly to the side as if replicating some kind of wings…

It had all been a world away from the childish games she and her brother had once played. Sometimes she wondered if it was healthy for her son just to grow up with only his mother for company. If Emma had survived, she'd thought wistfully, then Han would have had an older sister to look out for him. Then again, if Emma had lived there was every chance that she would still be at the Jedi Temple…would never have married Jonas…and Han might not have been born.

Might not have, she'd added carefully. Given that she didn't know for certain who his father was there had seemed little point in speculating alternative realities.

"I want you to listen to what mamma says. I need you to stay very quiet and very still…"

Han's eager face had made it all worthwhile. That was the image that Jemmy clung onto. His beautiful hazel eyes had been quick to take everything in around him as they had stepped off the transport to head for the freighter bay in which Welks' ship was berthed. Coronet spaceport was easily big enough to get lost in, and Jemmy had insisted on picking her son up and carrying him in her arms, a move that had not been popular with Han. "Not a baby" had been the indignant complaint uttered by the precocious Han Suul; a protestation that had reminded Jemmy exactly how like herself the child was. She herself had felt no particular interest in the day out other than to perhaps catch up with Welks again, but Han's brightness and enthusiasm had rubbed off to the extent she had relished the prospect of seeing things anew through her son's eyes.

They'd never reached the spaceport.

From the moment they had stepped off the transport Jemmy had known that someone was following them. Not possessing any inherent force-related abilities or second sight the Corellian had nonetheless felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She'd found herself briefly thinking of Obi-Wan, wondering if somehow he were trying to warn her of some impending danger, all the time her heart pounding in her throat as if it were seeking to escape her body. Han hadn't understood the reason behind her anxiety but he had certainly picked up on it, for his protestations at being carried had suddenly ceased and instinctively held onto his mother tighter than before.

Jemmy had known then that the trip had been little more than a ruse to entice her away from her private estate: she didn't know how, except that she did. With almost blinding clarity the pieces had all fallen into place: the message from Welks - from whom she had not heard in over three months…the death of her husband and his friends. One by one everything and everyone who'd had anything to do with her had been systematically removed. She'd had little doubt that the next time she'd set eyes on Welks it would be to view his body on a mortuary slab. If she didn't join him, that was.

"Whatever happens, whatever you hear or whatever you see, I want you to stay here and hide, do you hear me? Don't move from here…"

She'd made the biggest mistake of her life at that point. Instead of carrying on to the spaceport where there would at least be crowds of people and witnesses in abundance, Jemmy had turned off down one of the side roads towards one of the nearby alleys, hoping to lose her pursuer in the dark and winding passageways that dominated the run-down areas of Coronet. What had possessed her to take that fateful route she could never recollect, except that she had been driven by fear on a level she had never felt before: fear for the safety of her child. She could tell just by the petrified manner in which Han had frozen in her arms that he too was silently terrified, even if he could not express that dread in words.

The alleyways had turned and intersected, leading them closer to hell. All that had existed within Jemmy's mind was the overwhelming instinct to flee, countermanding all other rational thought. As with all nightmares there had been the conviction that as long as she didn't stop and turn round she would manage to outrun the malevolent shadow intent upon…

Intent upon what? Murder? It had seemed likely given all that had befallen her husband and his friends. Death was a spectre that Jemmy had flirted with many times before. But her son…she had been determined that whatever threat was bearing down upon her she would not allow her child to suffer.

And so Jemmy had stopped. And hidden. And waited to face confront her faceless enemy.

"Remember, mama loves you. She'll be right back, okay sweetheart? Just stay quiet, and stay safe in the shadows where nobody can see you. Mama loves you…"

Han had stayed quiet, and had stayed in the shadows like his mama had told him to, but it hadn't been enough. The enemy that had confronted Jemmy not moments after had worn a face that the Corellian had good reason to loathe and fear: a man who had, it seemed, escaped from the penitentiary on Coruscant with the sole purpose of avenging himself against the Jedi for their part in his incarceration. Linus Leaford had been a very angry man, and had acted with typical brutality and violence. Jemmy, outraged at the danger to her son had acted with a mother's courage and had attempted to knock the blaster from Leaford's hand…

But not before he had aimed the weapon straight in the direction of Han's hiding place. He'd squeezed the trigger. There had been a flash of light…a burning, ozone discharge. The sound of something falling…a clatter of metal.

And then Jemmy could remember nothing.

She'd been rescued by Jake Jivinan, husband to her friend and former smuggler Lilith Demodae, as she had once been known. An accident, it seemed; for Jake had planned to give up his old way of life as a freighter captain, and had only agreed to Leaford's terms because the money he was offering to ship his newly acquired slave had been impressive, to say the least. Fortunately for Jemmy - and unfortunately for Linus - Jivinan renegotiated the terms at the right end of a discretely concealed handgun…

Jemmy had been unable to thank Jake. She had been unable to do anything for an entire week. The nerve agent that Linus had used against her had paralysed her entirely for the best part of seven days…some arachnid venom extract, the experts had later said, that was used in the same way a spider might immobilise a fly. For endless hours, both day and night, Jemmy had lain in an infirmary bed unable to speak or communicate anything other than by blinking her eyes. Her body - for all the use it was - remained like a useless permacrete block. Visitors came and went. CorSec lingered anxiously to question her, waiting to ask the one question that Jemmy above all others wanted an answer to:

Where was Han Suul?

Her mind, imprisoned by her grief, began slowly to lose its reason. There was no memory of the journey to Coronet spaceport that day, or of the heroic rescue by Jake Jivinan. In time fleeting memories returned to haunt Jemmy, but by then it was too late to do anything other than hope...and pray. The rest was a blank: a void filled only with the frightened eyes of her son as she had kissed him goodbye.

"Remember mama loves you…"

What hurt Jemmy most was that it had taken so long for her to say it. That and the fact she would never be able to say it again.


	2. In The Blink of an Eye

TITLE: In the Blink of an Eye

By Jemmiah

Author's Note: The character of Samla/Lilith is used in the Jemmiah Chronicles with the permission of Lilith Demodae. My continuing thanks to her!

* * *

"I killed him."

Jake had been over it time and time again in his head, repeating it so many times that the words almost lost their sense of enormity. He'd killed somebody. Actually put a blaster to their back…squeezed the trigger…smelled the burning flesh as the energy charge had shuddered through the body. He'd done that. Watched as the corpse fell to the floor in a lifeless slump, eyes staring upturned in unrepentant defiance.

He'd killed someone.

"Don't beat yourself up over it." Samla Jivinan's voice was both ascerbic and strained, rendered taut with emotion. In the past she had learned to keep her true feelings hidden. Now she began to see how out of practice she was at doing just that. "He was worthless slime. I've wiped more delightful specimens off my boots; don't bother wasting your feelings on scum like that. The galaxy won't miss him. Not after what he's done…"

The threatened knot in Samla's voice tightened inextricably, disabling any further speech. There was no point in comforting her husband, who was a good man at heart, with the notion that he'd performed a public service for which the galaxy would have awarded him a medal. Even during his less than reputable days as a freighter captain with a ship for hire Jake was not the kind of person who felt at ease waving a blaster at people. All for show, he claimed. When it came to bluffing Jake Jivinan was an expert. He had more bluster than a full-scale hurricane.

"I did it without a moment of hesitation." Jake looked down at his hands as if they were coated with indelible gore. "Doesn't that worry you?"

"You did what you had to do!" Samla snapped back. "He would have killed her - and you - if you hadn't got him first. Just think about that for a second." The tall woman's hazel eyes bore into him with the power of a vibro blade. "And then there would be nobody around to tell the tale. Not you, not Jemmiah…"

She stopped herself dead, not able to bring herself to say what she was thinking. It was a fruitless exercise of course: one sideways glance at her husband told her he already knew what she'd been about to say.

"Do you…do you think they'll find the boy?" He asked, trying not to think of one of his own children in the same situation. Missing, possibly abducted, or worse…

"We can only hope." Her words didn't seem to inspire much confidence. "Depends on what those CorSec guys are saying, doesn't it?"

"I doubt it's good news." Jake found himself saying outloud. "It never is…not when they show up in pairs."

Samla automatically thinned her lips to form two fine lines. They'd had to be mighty careful in giving their side of the story to CorSec: leaving out the obviously damning fact that Jake had managed to blast the villain of the piece in the back, and the fact that the pair of them had dumped the low-life grease-stain where he wasn't likely to be found…for a time, at least. Even if they'd told the truth, CorSec tended to take a dim view of murder.

They preferred to do that leave that kind of thing to their investigation team.

"Look, there's nothing we can do right now except stick to our story and hope that everything somehow turns out alight…"

"Alright?" Jake's eyebrows almost broke orbit. "Your friend gets knocked on the head, abducted and her kid is listed as missing presumed murdered and you think things will turn out alright? I had you down as an optimist, sweetheart, but that takes the proverbial cake!"

"We don't know he's been murdered." Samla reminded him, feeling her fingers tightening automatically around the heart-shaped locket in which the image of her own son and daughter were contained. "But if I find out that anything…if something has happened…" She swallowed back her own hot, bitter tears. Oh, to be a hardened smuggler again! All the time when she had lived that precarious existence there remained buried deep inside her a softer, protective, feminine side to her nature that was so utterly at-odds to her Lilith Demodae persona. Now, when she most needed to become Lilith again, the necessary firmness had gone.

"What, you gonna dig him up so you can kill him some more?" Hissed Jake under his breath.

"Will you shush about killing that kriffer!" Samla growled at him, causing her husband to take an involuntary step backwards. "You want everyone to know?"

"I just can't believe that I did it!"

"Look!" Samla drew herself to her maximum, imposing height, suddenly business-like. "Linus Leaford was a psychopath! I haven't a clue how he got out of prison - frankly it wouldn't surprise me if the CSS just opened the cell and waved him out - but he was one dancer short of a Hutt's harem!" She made a violent stabbing gesture at the side of her head. "First Jonas, then Welks…you would have been next! And I know," she hooked her arm slowly through his own, pulling Jake slowly towards her side so that she might find some much needed support, "that what you did disgusted you. But if you hadn't then the Jedi temple would have been getting bits of Jemmy shipped back to them a piece at a time…literally. I'm proud of you: yes, it's true! Don't look at me like that." Samla silenced him, placing a finger against his lips. "It might be wrong to feel pride in murder. But that animal should have been put down years ago. Now, I don't want to talk about this again. Not ever in our lifetime together. Is that understood?"

Jake found himself nodding numbly. There wasn't much else he could do.

Linus of course had been an animal, from what Jemmy had managed to tell him systematically murdering all her husband's friends and associates one by one until she'd come to realise the target was most probably herself and her son. Jake had, through his own irregular contact with his Jedi friend Kurtas Kizzen, a limited understanding of how the force worked but never until that moment had he appreciated exactly the importance destiny played. If he hadn't decided to take that last, secret transport job so that he and his family could afford that new apartment Samla had been eyeing…if he had turned down that rather dubious if well-paying job of carrying a newly acquired slave…if he hadn't realised that the slave in question had turned out to be Jemmiah…

In his mind he could replay the whole scene once again in slow motion. Recognising the unconscious prisoner. Agreeing to take them to the planet Jantau. Watching Leaford let down his guard in momentary relief…

The blaster going off in his own hand.

Perhaps Samla was right. Who would miss such a piece of filth? With CorSec already investigating the attack on Jemmiah, the unsolved case of her husband's death and now the presumed murder of little Han it didn't look as if there was much point in spending time thinking on the likes of the late Linus Leaford.

Kessel take the devil; it felt good to be able to say the 'late' Linus Leaford!

Fate it seemed had played a major part in Jemmy's rescue. Perhaps fate would be kind to her son.

"Useless bunch, CorSec." Samla harrumphed, wrapping her arm around her husband's waist. "Couldn't find an meteor in an asteroid field. What good they're gonna be to Jemmy I don't know. Of course their excuse for their incompetence is that it took so long for Jemmy to be fit enough to answer them that they completely lost any trail they had of the poor kid…makes you think, doesn't it. One minute you're here and the next, who knows? It all happened in the blink of an eye."

"Perhaps that Jedi fellow can help." Jake nodded over to the hallway, watching the pensive figure in the brown robe waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs. "That must be why he's here, right?"

Samla ran a weary hand through her strawberry blonde hair. "Obi-Wan? He's usually here when there's a crisis in Jemmiah's life. Don't ask me how he knows: he just does. Must be that Jedi thing, I guess." She glanced around the hallway. "No sign of that apprentice of his. I'll bet he had his nose put out of joint, being told to stay behind whilst his master got to catch up on old times…"

"Surely this Jedi can find little Han?" Jake whispered, feeling inexplicably certain that Obi-Wan had somehow heard every word he had said.

His thoughts were cut to ribbons by what he could only have described as a shriek that seemed to fill every corner of the room, almost inhuman in its ability to shake and un-nerve. Jake felt his heart pounding wildly in his throat. It was the kind of sound that only a wounded creature might make: one that went on and on and on, laden with torturous pain and palpable, red-hot grief.

"What was that?" Jake nervously licked at his lips.

Samla watched the ultra-calm and un-flustered figure of the Jedi Knight walk up the stairs towards the sound of the continuing terrible noise. A pity, she thought wryly, that now he had become a man worthy, in her own opinion, of Jemmy he should have taken it upon himself to train a padawan, thus as good as ending their involvement. Things never worked out the way they were expected.

"That," Samla said in a deathly quiet voice, "is the sound of a mother who has been told she's not going to see her child again."


	3. The Hardest Thing to Do

**TITLE: The Hardest Thing to Do**

**By Jemmiah**

Samla waited until Obi-Wan had closed the door of Jemmy's bedroom before releasing her firm grip of Jake's waist, moving a few steps towards the stairs. The noise from upstairs had diminished in intensity; unbroken sobbing replacing the terrible, hysterical screaming of minutes before but the sound was no less heartbreaking to Samla for all that. She had a fair idea of what CorSec had told her friend in terms of the end result, if not the detail. Despite her earlier attempt at cheerful optimism it had been difficult to believe the outcome would be positive.

Slowly descending the large, elegant staircase the two CorSec officers, one little more than a youth and the other a harder, older female exchanged dubious glances with one another. The young man, as fluffy-cheeked and innocent in appearance as the day he was born seemed particularly ill at ease and Samla found herself in the almost unique position of sparing pity for one of CorSec's workforce. So used to being on the opposing side was she that it was inherently difficult to forget they were no longer the enemy…

"What happened?" Samla asked bluntly as the female officer finally reached the bottom of the stairs. "I'm assuming the news wasn't good?"

The woman grimaced sympathetically. "It's never a good day when you have to deliver such unhappy news. But if it's bad for the likes of us it must be almost incomprehensible to the parents…" She half-turned her head in the direction of Jemmy's room from whence the sobbing could clearly be heard, with no sign of abating. "In instances like this we wouldn't normally leave the individual alone in such distress, but the Jedi Knight suggested that we leave her in his charge." The fish-like pout twisted into an expression that suggested bewilderment. "Never argue with a Jedi, that's my motto."

"And what about Han?" Jake asked, moving to take his position by his wife's side once again.

The female officer sighed. "They've found no trace of him. Without an idea of where the initial attack occurred there's no way of finding the place where he vanished. Short of searching the entire planet there's not very much else that can be done. We've looked at all the places that his mother thinks she might have been that day. We did have a few people who remember seeing someone of her description with a little boy in the vicinity of the spaceport on Coronet, but nothing definite. There's been no sighting of him since. A two-year-old boy on the streets would tend to be noticed, even in the less desirable areas of town. And," she added hesitantly, "the fact that she remembers a shot being fired in the boy's direction has frankly led us to believe that her attacker simply…disintegrated him."

"Simply disintegrated him?" Samla spat back, outraged at the casual manner in which the officer had offered her opinion. "We're talking about a little boy, not some disposable toy! This is somebody's child!"

"You told her that you thought Han had been disintegrated?" Jake echoed, feeling sick to the stomach. "No wonder that went down well!"

"I merely reported what I had been told to say." The officer eyed Jake coolly, although not without sympathy. "That in all likelihood the child was dead. And even if he hadn't been killed at the time, it's been over a week since the attack. It's unlikely he'd survive long on the streets on his own without anyone to take care of him."

"He could still be alive!" Samla insisted, trying to block out the noise of Jemmiah's weeping from upstairs. Whatever Obi-Wan was saying, if he was saying anything, it evidently wasn't working. "You have to keep searching!"

The woman shook her head slightly, feeling almost embarrassed. "CorSec can't spend any more time or resources on this matter when it's an almost certainty the child has been murdered. The considered opinion is that Han Suul has been killed, most likely disposed of in a manner that will leave no evidence behind. The attack on his mother and those against her late husband and his friend are still being investigated, but…" She spread her hands apart in a gesture that indicated finality. "I'm afraid the case on the boy has been closed as of today."

Samla's mouth dropped wide open as if in desperate search of something coherent to say, but no words were forthcoming. She couldn't believe it! She just could not believe the almost flippant way in which the missing person case had been upgraded to murder just so that the investigation could be rounded off. What about Jemmy, crying her heart out inconsolably now she'd been told the worst? What about little Han? What if he was still alive, somewhere out there? On his own…scared and hungry…missing his mother? Instantly she pictured one of her own children in the same position and found herself every bit as grief-stricken as Jemmy. Why would nobody do something? Was this CorSec's idea of bringing closure?

"I've never heard such a din before." The young man mumbled uncomfortably, chafing under his starched uniform collar. "Is that normal? Why is she making such a noise?"

This time it was Jake who answered on his wife's behalf.

"There speaks the voice of a man who has no children of his own." He remarked grimly. "And if I might add, with an attitude like that is never likely to, either."

* * *

He held her wordlessly, allowing her the peace and quiet needed to mourn: her sobbing reverberating through both her own body and his. He'd hoped - somewhat desperately he had to admit - that as in days gone by his very presence might be of some reassurance, but there was little that would bring Jemmy any ease now CorSec had told her the worst. And yet… 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trying to fight through the overwhelming sense of Jemmiah's grief, the confusion, the certainty in the minds of those who had given up the struggle to find the truth, reaching forward with the force. There was more happening here than at first met the eye…something hidden. Something being hidden.

Or someone being hidden from his attempts to find them.

_Slam!_

It was as if a wall had come crashing down against his mind. Momentarily reeling, Obi-Wan blinked rapidly in surprise. He wasn't sure what exactly his mind had touched, but it had felt like a barrier: an invisible shield protecting his quarry. It had shut him out…no, was continuing to shut him out. Every time he tried to get near the truth it seemed to slip further from his grasp.

_Slam!_

It was no good. Except that now he felt quietly convinced of one thing.

"Jemmy," he said softly, trying to pry her durasteel-like grip from his arm, "Look at me." When she didn't respond to his urging he gently took hold of her chin, tilting it upwards so that she would have no choice but to look him in the eye. "I need you to listen to me. This is important."

Her eyes were red and puffy, disfigured by the tears she so rarely allowed herself to shed. It was as piteous site indeed; Obi-Wan thought sorrowfully, especially to one such as himself who had to an extent become hardened to the cruelty and misfortune prevalent within the galaxy. He'd witnessed poverty, starvation, injury, slavery, insanity and every kind of perverted sickness that existed during his travels with Qui-Gon and then Anakin, yet there was something in the sight of a mother weeping for her lost child that stirred the utmost pity in Obi-Wan. And this wasn't just anybody; this was Jemmy…

"I don't believe," he said slowly, picking his words with deliberate care, "that Han is dead."

He wasn't sure if she'd heard him at first, or even if she had that she had understood what he was saying. One moment CorSec were telling her that Han was gone and here he was confusing matters by saying the opposite - and to what good purpose he couldn't say. Even if he was alive, what then? What good would it do if the child could not be restored to her? With CorSec refusing to search and his own time on Corellia limited to a few stolen days who would be left to champion Han's cause? Oh, Samla and Jake would make what enquiries they could. No doubt Jemmy's Mathers cousins would throw their money around in an attempt to buy information, but he remained certain that it would achieve little.

"Don't say that." Jemmy shook her head violently as if trying to rid herself of some distasteful notion. "Don't get my hopes up only to dash them. It would be cruel. I couldn't bear it."

The tears started once more and Obi-Wan took her hand in his own, squeezing the fingers tightly within his own grasp.

"Dear friend," he said warmly, "I don't say anything to be cruel. I say a thing because I believe it could be true. I can't tell you for certain whether Han is alive or not. The force will not reveal it to me. But I do feel that there is a very real chance that he lives - and that he is being looked after in some way." Obi-Wan paused, recollecting the strange, shocked feeling he'd encountered when he'd tried to reach out to discover the truth. He was aware that Jemmy was staring at him intently, hanging onto his every word as if it were her only hope of salvation. "As to where he might be or who he may be with, I cannot say. Nor can I say for certain that he will be found."

He'd built up her hopes only to crush them, and he'd been a fool to even try. She would have been better off believing him dead than being left with the idea that he was somehow alive, never to set eyes upon him again. Obi-Wan silently cursed himself a thousand times: he might as well have taken a knife to her for all the good he had done. But even when accused by others as being liberal with the truth he felt on this occasion Jemmiah needed to know exactly where she stood.

"I have to get him back." She began to weep once again, wiping away freely flowing tears with the back of her hand. "You have to help me find him…I can't leave him out there if he's still alive. He's only little…nobody wants to help me. I can't do it all on my own." Her fingers began to clutch convulsively at the blue bedcovers, twisting them beneath her grasp. "It's just too much…if I can't find out the truth I don't want to go on. I can't go on…I haven't the strength."

"You must." Obi-Wan commanded quietly. "Even although you don't want to. You have to carry on. Right now breathing probably feels difficult, let alone thinking of tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that…but you have to face it. Giving up is easy."

"What reason do I have to carry on?" Jemmy's eyes shone through thick lashes gummed together with moisture. She rubbed continually at her face with bunched fingers, and as she did so a fresh cascade of tears would fall anew. There were no words to convey to Obi-Wan how she felt. It was far worse than anything she had ever felt before…worse than the loss of her mother, or Evla, or even Qui-Gon who had at least all experience life to the full before they'd been taken from her. Han was a child. A child who had never been given a chance to grow up and be happy and do all the wonderful things Jemmy had wished for him.

She'd not even wanted him to start with! As she sat there, wondering if the gods had punished her for her initial rejection, Jemmy could feel nothing but shame for the way she had reacted on first being presented with her son. He had been a gift. She hadn't seen it at the time, and now that he was gone she could see it all too plainly.

"You'll carry on because you have to." Obi-Wan replied simply. "Because you always have, no matter what has happened. Because you are the strongest being I have ever known in my life. And because," he looked her intently in the face, "I command it."

Jemmiah felt the next sob catch in her throat…then finally subside.

"Are you using a mind-trick on me?" She warned him, wiping futilely at her reddened nose.

"I wouldn't dream of it. But I command it all the same. Jemmy," Obi-Wan allowed a rare moment of sentiment to break through his accomplished Jedi mask, blinking back a tear of his own, "You have to keep focussed on the fact that one day, no matter how long it may take, that your son may come back to you. Don't you want to be there to see that? Do you want him to be left without a mother?"

"They said he was dead!" Jemmy almost crumpled over, hugging herself for comfort. "They told me he'd been disintegrated and that they couldn't find so much as a shoe! I can't even bury him, or add his name to the mausoleum on Coruscant along with my parents! It's as if he never existed and nobody cares except for me!" Her words ended in an outraged shriek. "Am I supposed to search every street and alleyway on Corellia? I'm just one person, Ben! And I'm a person who is rapidly losing their mind!"

"You'll be strong because you always find something more in a crisis." Obi-Wan continued patiently. "And because you have friends who will support you, and help you. Han will turn up, one day. I do not think he is dead."

"You can't promise me that, can you?" Jemmy's reply was angst-ridden.

Obi-Wan shook his head, sighing. "No." He said finally. "No I can't promise you that. But I'm sure our paths will cross again sometime…"

"I want him back now!" Jemmy snapped. "Do you know what it's like for a child on the streets? Do you have any idea what it's like to be at the mercy of sick-minded individuals? Or the kind of things a kid will do just in order to stay alive? Do you? Can you even begin to imagine? Because," she thumbed at her chest, "I can! That WAS my life. I would die a thousand times to spare my son from that…and now I either have to think I've lost him for good or that some weirdo has taken him away. How can you sit there and be so calm? How DARE you be so kriffing calm!" She thumped at him violently on the arm, wanting to thrash some sign of emotion from him. "This is my son…" Her words faltered as the realisation finally sunk in at last. "…And he's not coming back. I've lost him."

Obi-Wan gathered her up against him again, placing his arm over her shoulder. Qui-Gon would have handled this so much better than he, but instead the role of comforter had fallen to him. And what would Qui-Gon have said to her? What words of consolation would his master have offered amidst such dark times? He pictured the Jedi in his mind and tried, for just that moment, to become the man he had respected and held above all others in the galaxy.

"Jemmiah," he said finally, "there's always hope. And as long as there is hope you have to face tomorrow. Even if it is the hardest thing to do."

He glanced around the room, feeling the weight of her head against his chest and the itchy warmth of her salt tears against his skin. For the first time since he had dismissed the CorSec officers it struck him that he was in a child's bedroom, looking at a child's collection of stuffed toys and perched precariously upon a child's bed.

A bed that was from that night on destined to remain empty.


	4. Until It's Gone

Title: Until it's gone…

Author: Jemmiah

I was never cut out to be a mother: at least that's how I justified my lack of maternal feelings to begin with. Feeding and changing and late nights, you know? Not my idea of fun. Plays havoc with your social life…least it would have done if I'd had a social life to begin with. The worst part of pouring your time and money into developing the perfect house is that when it's all finished and there's nobody there to share it with you, all your left with is highly polished bricks and chrome finishings. Kind of takes the shine off the achievement. Lilith was right, as usual. I'd tried to create paradise and ended up in my own personal hell.

I hate being on my own.

That's why when I was unexpectedly presented with my own little 'bundle of joy' I almost found myself relishing the challenge…well, at least when the shock had worn off. As I said, I haven't a maternal bone in my body but in some ways that made it more of an accomplishment. I'd look down at my son in his crib and instead of feeling sorry for myself and wondering what the heck I was gonna do with a baby I'd never particularly wanted, I'd find myself growing increasingly sorry for him being stuck with me! And that was the turning point, I think. It's a lot of responsibility, having kids. I was in charge of this little person. I had to organise his entire life until he was old enough to do it himself…and being Corellian that could have been any time after the age of seven!

In the end though it was almost fun. I enjoyed reading stories and playing games. All the things I rarely got to do myself as a child were inevitably what I found myself delighting in most. I even liked the simple, necessary things like dressing him in his little outfits and tying his shoelaces. There's something enjoyable in even the most mundane of tasks. At the end of the day there was a lot of satisfaction when he was tucked up in bed, fast asleep. Small children seem to look different to adults when they're sleeping, don't they? They have that aura of innocence about them. It's as if they radiate purity and goodness, without a single care in the galaxy…untroubled by dark thoughts. Their world is so small and immediate; it's almost like they are the center of the universe.

I suppose in a way they are.

I used to wonder what my son would grow up to be. A swoop rider, like his mother? A pilot perhaps? Something fast and thrilling and very Corellian…always testing the boundaries and trying new and exciting things. Then I'd wonder if as his mother it were fitting that I'd want him to do something that might potentially break his neck. The insight I suddenly got on how Qui-Gon must have felt observing me grow up was startling! Poor man…now I truly appreciate why his hair started going grey! But I could only protect Han so much. What right did I have to map out a safe and cosy life? Time and time again I tried to imagine my boy growing up to be work in an office… some stuffy, boring job with regular hours, with an irritating Gamorrean faced boss complaining about his lousy time keeping and lack of motivation. Had I ever wanted any of that for myself?

All my life I had spent looking over my shoulder, always afraid. I wanted something better for him. I wanted him to be free of fear.

'Trouble', I nicknamed him. He was well named. I saw so much of myself in him that I feared it wouldn't bode well for him. Even at the age of two he'd cheat at 'hunt the plasti-duck'…and then when I'd catch him out he'd give me that cheeky smile, knowing it would melt my heart. Typical Corellian male! One flutter of eyelashes and suddenly women just give in to their whims! The worst of it was that I always did.

I never spoiled him or overindulged him; least I tried not to. But I always spoke to him and gave him my time and attention. I sometimes think that parents don't do that enough. Up to the age of three I saw my nanny-droid more often than my own mama and I was determined not to make the same mistake with Han.

Yeah, I guess you could say that I quickly came to love my son. It was impossible not to. I listened to his first words with astonished pride…I sat with him when he was sick, bandaged his knees whenever he fell and dried his tears when he cried. I held him when he needed held and taught him how to recognize sabaac cards. I sang to him at night and kissed his forehead before turning out the lights. Those are the kind of normal things I used to do before he was taken away from me. It's the simple things in life that I've come to miss the most. Now I'm alone once more in this empty house of mine. It's come to represent my life in many ways: it's still standing but the heart is somehow missing.

It's true what they say.

You never appreciate what you have until it's gone.


	5. Solo

**Solo**

By Jemmiah

She'd been raking around the garbage thrown aside in the alleyways when she'd first noticed him. It was Marinka's job to scrounge through the discarded household waste and scraps of food, searching for anything vaguely edible to share with her partner, or perhaps some abandoned item of clothing to help keep the cold at bay. In fact it had been the chill air, the first sign of the onset of the winter season, that had led her to make the discovery. A small wisp of frozen breath from the huddle of rags in the darkest corner of the alley - a tiny vaporous exhalation - had caught Marinka's eye.

At first she had thought it some mangy cannoid pup: the streets were littered with the beasts. Every so often the creatures would launch an attack on the dispossessed street dwellers, or 'ratches' as they Corellian elite disparagingly called them, but only if they were truly desperate for food. Nevertheless Marinka had not been terribly keen on finding out if this one was hungry enough to take its chance…

Then the bundle had whimpered. No animal larynx could have produced such a sound.

Daring to move closer into the darkness, Marinka had found herself staring into two large, frightened eyes. She couldn't say what colour they were for certain, probably a light hazel shade, but she could see the face was smeared with grime except for two large clear streaks that ran like slug trails down towards the small chin. The creature of which she had been so wary had been a mere child: a tiny, humanoid male of a very young age. Frightened, the boy had recoiled further towards the wall.

Marinka's astonishment had naturally given way to pity. As a Corellian, whose belief in the importance of family she held above all else, her mind automatically turned to picturing what might have caused the child to be hiding in the darkened alleyways and streets of Corellia. Whatever it was certainly wouldn't have been good: nobody who ended up on the streets had enjoyed a happy life. They were either hiding from the law, or from who knows what: dispossessed, drunk, deprived of all basic essentials. Criminals, murderers, thieves…even the mere unlucky dwelt amongst the shadows. Too young to be any of the former Marinka classified the child as one of the unlucky ones, and had tried to find out what she could about him.

At first he had refused to speak. She'd wondered if perhaps he was too young to form his words properly, or whether it was fear that was staying his tongue. Traumatised, perhaps? His clothing, although dirty and crumpled had once been quite good. Somebody had been looking after him, then? Obviously he hadn't been born on the streets: the expensive little shoes on his feet were testimony to that. Instantly Marinka had wondered how much she might be able to get for them if she took them from the boy, and then had ashamedly berated herself for thinking such a horrible thought.

She'd been on the streets for so long that thinking horrible thoughts had become almost second nature. It was dog-eat-dog in the big, bad galaxy…

Finally, after a few minutes the boy had lisped out his name.

Han. That was all. Nothing else. If he had a second name it hardly mattered anymore: he wouldn't be needing it on the streets.

Where was his mother, Marinka had wondered? Had she abandoned him? What kind of person would do that to a child: a mere baby? Or was she somewhere, searching desperately for her son? Perhaps she had fallen victim to the street, too? Many people found their way there and few, if any, ever found their way back…

She'd tried to take the boy's hand but he had frozen, snatching his tiny fingers from her grasp. He'd not wanted to leave even despite her most earnest pleas; entreating him to go with her. She'd smiled at him, asking him why he didn't want to leave but he, being so small and unable to express himself, had found it difficult to say. Confused, miserable and frightened, he had only been able to tell her that he had been told to "stay and hide" in the dark. With nobody around to tell him otherwise Marinka guessed that was all the little boy had left to cling onto. Who had told him to hide, she had wondered? And from what? Where were they now?

"Was it your mama?" She'd asked him, regarding the tear-stained face. "Did your mama tell you to hide? Where is she? Was it your papa?"

The boy had looked bewildered, and had put a hand against his head. Marinka had just about managed to make out a small, darkened bruise against his temple. Who or what had caused that, she had wondered? One thing seemed apparent: whatever had befallen the boy's carers they weren't anywhere nearby.

"Why don't you come with me?" She'd held out her hand to him once more. "I don't have much, but we can snuggle up at night to keep warm. It'll be better than freezing out here on your own. You don't want to be on your own, do you?"

Han hadn't wanted to be on his own, but he hadn't wanted to leave either. Someone had told him to stay put, someone important to him, and resolutely he had decided to stay and do as he was told. Marinka had shaken her head, knowing the boy would not last long on his own. Children were resilient and could get by with very little on the streets, but this little one was so very young…if he stayed then either the vrelts or the cannoids would get him. But what was Marinka supposed to do? Force him to go with her?

She'd walked unhappily away, looking back over he shoulder as she had gone. Perhaps that was what had convinced the boy to go with her. For an agonised second he had stood there, alone, clearly at a loss for what to do. His heart seemed to tell him to stay: his head told him to go. In the end perhaps it was the instinct for survival that had won out, or that last little glance of Marinka's: so full of sadness, so full of understanding, reminding him of someone else who had been kind and warm and beautiful…

Han had toddled after her, taking Marinka's hand, leaving the past and the darkness behind him.

* * *

"What are we supposed to do with him?" Gedric growled. "Just what we need - another kriffing mouth to feed! We can barely look after ourselves!"

Marinka scratched at her scalp through matted strands of golden hair. Like most of those who lived on the streets her head had become a scritchies paradise. Gedric was not a native to Corellia, and he had little time for sentiments or family ties: he was practicality personified. In searching through the garbage there was a simple rule: if it didn't aid your own survival then it would be cast aside, and as far as he could see the little boy was more dead weight than a Hutt tied to his leg by a chain. They'd taken up with each other shortly after first coming to the streets: he was tough, smart and clever and she determined and resourceful. Together they'd just about managed to survive. But Gedric was not known for his forward thinking: his lack of vision was beginning to wear Marinka down.

"Was I supposed to leave him to die?"

Gedric shrugged. "Yes. If necessary. It's tough and it's cruel, but that's life sweetheart!" He hefted the few coins he had made during the day whilst he had been begging and then looked down at the child. It wasn't that he wished the boy any harm, but what he had said to Marinka was true. With the cold season nipping at their heals they would need every credit they could get: there was no room for sentiment. The child stared up at him with large, nerf-like eyes, evidently aware that he would get no love in return. Gedric had no love for himself anymore, let alone anyone else.

"He's just a child…"

"Look," Gedric shoved his hands into the torn pockets of his grey trouser pants; "boys need feeding, just like the rest of us. But they're growing all the time, and that means they need lots of food. We hardly have any for ourselves! Are you going to give him your share? Coz I ain't giving him mine!"

Marinka's shoulders slumped. Gedric was always so negative. If he couldn't see the potential gift this child was then perhaps it was time they went their separate ways…

"Maybe he's got someone looking for him." She said softly, looking down at the little hand dwarfed by her own fingers. "He's dressed nicely. Someone must know who he is. Maybe we could find out and claim some reward! His parents must be out of their minds with worry! We could tell the authorities, and when they contact his family there is bound to be a huge payout!"

Gedric glanced from Marinka's earnest face to the little boy. He was indeed well dressed, with shiny Kruskan-leather shoes. Designer label, by the look of them. Maybe he could steal them before they left the boy to his fate? He weighted Marinka's words with care. Perhaps there was a reward for the child, who could say? And if someone was looking for him, they probably would be overjoyed to get the brat back. On the other hand…

"Face facts." Gedric rubbed a hand over the bristle of his dark beard. "If he's on the streets then nobody wants him, or is still alive to claim him. His mama and papa are most likely dead. He's like us: there's nobody who would miss him."

"Then teach him to beg!" Marinka pleaded with him. "Take him with you when you go on the streets! You said yourself that Bel-Amman makes five times the credits we do because he has his son begging with him! It's the children that people feel sorry for, not we adults." She caught his arm, hoping that the lure of credits would prove too much for his practical sensibilities. "It could make the difference between us starving this winter!"

As predicted Gedric performed an almost instant about-turn. It was strange to think that there was pride or even competition between beggars but the mention of Bel-Amman's name had proven to be an irresistible draw-in for Gedric. Maybe if the kid was taught to beg properly…

"He's small." The bearded man snorted. "But I dare say that might work to our advantage. If we can just train him to look pathetic enough and cup his hands at passers by we might do well enough. That'd put Bel-Amman's nose out of joint!"

Marinka ruffled Han's head. She was no substitute for a mother or father, but she would do her best to look out for the boy. In return he would be put to use, searching through the garbage and begging on the streets. It was difficult not to feel sorry for the youngster, but what else could she do? It wasn't a good life, or indeed any kind of a life at all, but when the alternative was starving to death in an alley you made the most of the sabaac hand fate dealt you. For the moment Han would be safe enough.

* * *

And so the boy learned to beg. Gedric was satisfied to find that the child proved to be a real money-spinner, his scared little face and big eyes appealing to those who saw him on the streets. They never thought to question where he had come from or whom he was with, or what his background might have been. As the months passed the child's clothing became shabby and worn so that, in time, he came to pass for a true street urchin. The shoes, mud-stained as they were, perhaps remained the only clue to his once privileged life.

Marinka, however, never forgot. She would often think on the day that she met the child and wonder how he had came to be in the alleyway that cold afternoon. It plagued her to think that possibly the boy's family might still be out there, searching, desperate for information. At night-time she would look down at him and wonder if he could recollect what had befallen him, and those who had once cared for him. Not that Gedric cared. All that mattered to him was surviving through the winter.

And survive they did, for the best part of a year, until it turned to autumn once again. Marinka, full of noble intentions and perhaps with an overburdened conscience confronted Gedric, informing him that she was going to take the youngster to the authorities and hand him over. He was young, and in need of a proper home. Even if they couldn't find his real family an orphanage would be better than the cold, cruel streets filled by hungry cannoids and angry vrelts. Yes, she told him, she had become fond of the boy - he deserved a better life than the one they were giving him. Whether he liked it or not she was handing little Han in to CorSec.

The boy was asleep whilst Gedric strangled Marinka with his necktie. He had been so tired after his day of raking through the garbage that he never even awoke whilst the bearded man dragged her body out of sight into a nearby garbage skip. He finally awakened to find that both Gedric and Marinka were gone.

So had his shoes.


End file.
